


softly chiming bells

by namio



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: And Mikleo bringing him ice cream for a much needed comforting cuddle, Comfort, Comforting cuddles, M/M, Mostly just Sorey thinking about things that happened up to Lastonbell, Nothing that explicitly says Sorey and Mikleo being a Thing but hey, Reflection, The premise of this entire fic that should suffice as a summary, that's p much how this ship works anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 01:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7488012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/namio/pseuds/namio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lot of things happened between Marlind and Lastonbell, things that may never leave without scars, but Mikleo tries to soften the bruises left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	softly chiming bells

The bed creaks a bit and the flimsy curtains shines still with the radiant glow of the sunset, but this is possibly the nicest place he’d gotten to sleep in in quite a while. Muffled clicks of Lailah’s heels against the carpet outside the room passes, her soft conversation with Rose and Mikleo fades, and finally, finally silence. Sorey tips over face-first onto the bed, nuzzling his face on the soft pillow, and breathes.

Lastonbell is a thriving, busy city, with murmurs ringing clear as bells out in the streets, still lively even though dusk is soon breaking. The air here isn’t so bad, either—after Marlind, after- after… it’s nice to come someplace with _people_ in it that’s not chock-full of malevolence, urging him to act and _fix things_ even though it’s hard to breathe. Horrific murder cases still haunts the far crevices in his mind, as does his promise to Sergei, but, but—but travelling at night is a bad idea, and Rose still has to check up on her folks anyway. They’ve told them that they’ll be setting out for the new hideout as soon as they’re done with stocking up, and that’s hour ago, but the way Rose’s eyes dart off to the sides sometimes tells him that she wants to see them, anyway.

It’s all right, he supposes. Dezel’s always with her, anyway. If it’s just within the city… She’ll be fine, he’s sure.

But then again, that serial killer—

The door creaks, and then softly swings open.

“Are you asleep already?” Even his voice is soft. Mikleo makes his way over, footsteps growing louder, and sits on the bed. A clink of metal on glass.

Sorey turns to his side, eyes tender and bleary, and opens his mouth. Only air comes out, though—words are hard, right now, and Mikleo only hands him the tall glass of vanilla ice cream, wearing that expression he wore two days ago in the ruins. It’s kind of amazing to think about it; they’ve spent their entire lives together, and yet there are still shades of care and concern that he’s never seen. For the most part, it’s probably a good sign, he supposes. But still, it’s… nice.

Mikleo has always cared, though. Regardless of what his expressions might be, he always looks out for him.

“You’re probably tired, but you might want to eat that before it melts. Rose went out to check on the Sparrowfeathers. She said that you should probably eat dinner first if she’s not back by eight; this week has been a long one, there’s no need to wait for her to come back to eat and sleep.”

A long week. Sorey wants to laugh, but Mikleo doesn’t deserve that.

Droplets slide down the class and onto his bare hands, and Sorey breathes in deep. “All right. Thanks, Mikleo.”

“No  need to thank me, I was just passing on the message.” It’s easy to see the tenderness in his eyes, though—they’ve been together long enough that it’s easy to see the subtle curve of his eyebrows, the soft crinkle to his eyes, and this past two week, he’s seen Mikleo blatantly faking optimism for his sake more times than he’s seen him do so in a lifetime. It really has been a long week. Mikleo pushes at his leg and Sorey scoots over to the other side, precariously balancing a filled glass of ice cream with his palm.

Mikleo lies down next to him, at home already.

“Eat,” he says.

Sorey laughs. “All right, all right. Thanks for the food, by the way.”

They don’t talk about how eating this much ice cream will spoil his appetite later at dinner. They don’t talk about how they know, had there been any appropriate moment, Mikleo would’ve given him, given them all the same ice cream, middle of a battlefield be damned. He eats the ice cream, letting his tongue swirl around and savor the sweet, soft taste of vanilla. Perfect, as always. Sorey has always said that the reason that it’s his favourite because he’s been fed it for a good few years in his childhood, but he supposes, in part, that it’s also because Mikleo always puts so much care and attention into making them. Kind of like how he’s been studying and reading up on the world below for the day Sorey would inevitably leave. Kind of like how he’s been practicing and pushing himself to be able to fight better.

Mikleo lies beside him, upper body propped up against the headboard while his legs cross. It’s such a serene, composed pose that Sorey laughs.

Mikleo raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” Sorey says, grinning. “Want some?”

Mikleo rolls his eyes, but a smile plays on his lips anyway. He’s been smiling a lot lately, but this one is definitely one of his favourites—it’s a cross between fond exasperation and something simple that’s also hard to place, like that time when he called Sorey out about exploring Lastonbell, just after their disastrous puppet show. It’s a bit sweet, honestly. Sorey scoops up a spoonful and holds it up to his lips, smearing some of the creamy sweet as he pokes them.

“Hey!”

Sorey grins. “Easier this way than to pass the spoon around, no?”

Mikleo swallows the treat, a thoughtful look on his face. They alternate spoonfuls, steadily finishing the ice cream as they discuss the minutiae of life, of the other effects of Lastonbell’s history as a smoke signal tower on its urban planning, of the aqueduct and the underground lake that might not be so far away. It’s easy to drown in discussions of the Tintagel ruins—what drove the people into worshipping dragons? What was the function of the ruins they stayed at? If they have an experiment chamber, what does it say about the structure? About the location? At some point he reaches over Mikleo to put the empty glass on the nightstand, and his body hovers over Mikleo, and the sun has set for well over an hour now, judging from the clock that now ticks away, noise resounding in the suddenly quiet room. Mikleo doesn’t say anything.

Sorey lies down on him, arm draped over his waist and head leaning on his shoulder. The arm that props him up collapses, finding places to fit in this somewhat uncomfortable position, and then they’re both shifting lower and lower, finally lying flat on the bed, facing each other.

He should probably not be lying down like this, lest he gets sleepy. He still hasn’t eaten dinner, after all, and if he’s not and Rose will be back late, then the other Seraphim would be forced to eat late, too. It’s not like they have to eat, but… Eating together is nice. There’s a sense of companionship that energizes him every mealtime, and he’d hate to miss out on that.

“So, Lailah and Edna?” he asks, eyes closing. Mikleo’s arm rests on him, now softly tracing up and down movements on his shoulder blade. Mikleo hums.

“Lailah said she’s going to set her hair. I don’t know about Edna.”

Sorey hums, mulling over the words, before laughing. “Though then again, I wouldn’t want you to subject yourself to asking Edna what she’s doing or about to do.”

“Ugh, you’re right. I don’t really want to think about what she’s going to call me if I asked her that… Probably nothing good.” A pause. “Scratch that. _Definitely_ nothing good.”

Eyes still closed, Sorey grins. “Creepleo? Stalkleo?”

Mikleo’s hand swats him on his waist, and Sorey laughs into his shoulder. “Don’t join in. It’s bad enough that you called me Touchy Feely Mikleo—she’s never letting that go, you know?”

“She has a soft spot for you, probably.”

“How is that a soft spot?!”

“Well, it’s a very Edna soft spot, I suppose.” Whatever that means. Edna preys on anyone unfortunate enough to slip, and sometimes would probably push you down herself. Admittedly, it’s fun to see Mikleo worked up, sometimes. There are limits, of course, but as they spend more and more time together, Sorey’s getting the feeling that everyone has been learning to accommodate each other. Rose is a new addition, and in a way, he supposes Lailah was right in saying that it’s not just Rose who’s learning to deal with this new life of coexistence, but also them with her. But they’re on good track, really. Sorey knows that if it’s them, coexistence is possible. Now it’s only the matter of everyone else.

But that’s something they’ll have to work towards, both him and Mikleo.

“You should probably give that brain of yours a rest. I’ll tell you when Rose comes back, just so you won’t miss dinner.”

“You should probably rest, too.” Mikleo only answers with a thoughtful hum, and Sorey continues. “No, really. You’ve been in battle for as long as I do. I know you don’t need sleep, but you definitely need the rest. Especially after…”

During the entire… battle, Sorey has had Mikleo watching his back. There were many Rolance soldiers on the way to Heldalf at the top of the hill, and Mikleo had been with him the entire time. It had been, if Sorey is honest, mostly for the emotional support. He knows that the scene isn’t new to Lailah and Edna, and he knows that it’s not like they don’t care as much, but Mikleo’s interventions and words were a big part on what held him together back there.

“Knock it off.”

Sorey opens his eyes and sees Mikleo’s flat expression, but there’s no mistaking the way his hand curls in tension behind him. Mikleo can lie with his words, he can _try_ to lie with his expressions, but he’s never lied often enough, convincingly enough to lie with his body. He covers up a lot of things for him. Sorey pulls him close, inhaling at the crook of his neck. He always feels like that scent after rain. The arm relaxes and so does the rest of Mikleo, and Sorey breathes out.

“Thanks for the ice cream, then.” Lucas, those hellionized soldiers, Alisha—Sorey doesn’t know if he can stop thinking about them, no matter how interesting Lastonbell is and how much secrets it cradles in its history. Still, he knows that he can’t think too much of it, not when he’s helpless to fix that at this moment. It’s _hard_ , trying to push it out of his mind to make space for things that he can actually do something about, but sometimes it’s a little bit easier. Sometimes it’s a bit easier to accept that he can’t hold everything in his mind in ways they deserve to be held—to accept that he’s human with human limitations. And the ice cream takes him back to his childhood, in a way. Somehow, it feels a bit like a reminder.

Not just of Elysia, but of the times when his wants and goals are clear, of the times when they are simple and linear. That view doesn’t work anymore, not when he’s in too deep in so many large-scale politics and war, but it serves well as a reminder of why he’s doing _this_. Of why he’s off in this journey to begin with.

“Didn’t I say that you should rest, not overthink yourself even more?”

“Aah, forceful as always—“ But he pulls Mikleo tighter, and Mikleo curls up around him just a little more. It’s always been how they sleep after a particularly heart-pounding day. Circumstances change, reasons change, but there’s no denying that after all these years, having Mikleo safe and _here_ is always one of the most comforting, reassuring things in his life. He has never lost the ability to see him before. Even though he was later immediately preoccupied with the entire Rose business, looking back, clarity of hindsight only makes things more terrifying.

Mikleo crying. Heh. Somehow that sounds unlikely.

Mikleo did cry his fair share when they were children, though. Sorey, being his age, didn’t know better. They always would cry whenever the other did, only stopping when they were old enough to separate the other’s suffering from their own. On the other side of the coin, though, there’s their shared passion for archaeology and history, as well as their shared dream. A peaceful, harmonic coexistence…

Eyes closing, Sorey can feel his breathing slow down. It’s rather quiet now, the streets outside—seems like night _does_ fall, even in the city of artisans. Mikleo’s breathing is even, tussling his hair with each soft exhale, and he can imagine the thrumming of his heart through the faint pulse on his neck, like the entrancing chime of bells as is retold in the Celestial Records. So many things have happened this past two weeks. Some good, some bad, and all of them important to his journey, but…

Tonight, he sleeps.

* * *

“Sorey? Are you in there?” No answer. “Sorey?” A pause. “Did you eat dinner yet? Because if not…”

The door to the girl’s shared room opens, and Lailah pokes her head out. “No, they haven’t eaten dinner yet. But I haven’t heard any noise since Mikleo went in there, so they probably fell asleep.”

Rose’s eyebrow rises. “Should we wake them up? I mean, nobody likes missing dinner.”

Lailah frowns. “Well, they’re most likely tired, especially after everything…”

“Having them whine from hunger is not worth it, though.” Heads turn to the source of the dispassionate voice, but Edna’s flat expression barely changes as she continues. “I’d say you wake them up. They’re growing children, after all. Wouldn’t want Meebo to be more vertically stunted than he already is.”

“Savage,” Rose murmurs under her breath. “I’ll go get Deze—oh, there you are. Can you please open the door? Since it’s the boy’s room and all.”

Dezel crosses his arms, but does as he’s told. Rose only hopes that they’re not intruding on something—Mikleo did, after all, ask her to ask for a glass and a spoon for the ice cream he wanted to make. It’s kinda sweet, really. He’s trying to be all cool and stuffs, most of the time, but he slips up and shows his concern a lot. Kinda like a teenage mama bear.

Maybe a bit like Dezel, but less teeth and angry overprotectiveness and more ice cream.

“Sore—oh.”

“Well,” Edna drawls out behind her and Dezel.

“Oh,” Lailah says.

Dezel makes a noise between a growl and a sigh.

“Should we wake them up?” Rose whispers. An angry, sharp hiss. “Whoa, calm down Lailah, I won’t, I won’t.”

With them basically curled up against each other like that, it’s already discomforting to walk into the room like this anyway. Mikleo’s cheek is on top of Sorey’s head, and their arms are in places that would make most couple blush. Must be nice, living in Sorey-Mikleo World. Rose shakes her head.

“Let’s just get some dinner. Maybe we can try to get them something that doesn’t taste like feet when eaten cold, too.”

She closes the door extra gently, and relishes in that bit of warmth blooming in her chest at that slightest bit of innocence in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the things in this fic is mostly based off of my own play style (like me keeping Mikleo the entire battle because he brings me comfort and how I basically farmed like all the skits I could in one inn visit, so I'm lumping them as though at least most of them were done in one day). I kinda feel like the plot picked up a bit... fast in this part, especially since so much shit went down after Marlind, and the worry about things that happened prior kinda stuck with me still.
> 
> This is a fic that demanded to be written. The entire war thing was just heartbreaking and I could barely watch the cutscenes, but Mikleo's attempts to soften the blow were an immense help, tbh. IDK what to say anymore about him other than "best waifu confirmed". He's been a lot softer after Marlind-- kinda easy to see why, but it's heartwarming anyway. The thoughts that formed for the fic only got really cemented when I impulsively went to consume some soft serve ice cream for the emotional comfort, and I couldn't get the image of Mikleo feeding him some ice cream like the old days outta my head.
> 
> Wrote this either on the height of an adrenaline high and on eyes-closed half asleep state, so do point out of shit just plain don't make sense! They're both really appreciated and really helpful. Thanks for reading!


End file.
